Bruised

Where did this hematoma come from?

A discolored map of past pain

Painted on my inner thigh

No errant blow from a lover’s kneecap

Since my monastic cell is never visited

Yet I don’t recall a sharp blow

A slam that crushed capillaries

Flooding soft tissues with my unleashed blood

But it happened, evidently

I wonder what other bruises I carry, unknowingly

The ones that aren’t out in the open

Because I’ve been slammed and set upon

Roughed up and worked over

If I could peer into my chest

My heart is no doubt multi-hued

Black and blue and fading into yellowed inattention

My soul, scarred and in need of a fresh dressing

Badges of past battles

Medals pinned into my flesh

Even my bones are cobbled together with plates and pins

Holding me up to fight again

So I strap on my metaphorical sword

And go forward into this ever-present fray

Risking the harm that comes my way

To raise my voice and rejoin the battle of the everyday

 

David Trudel  © 2013

 

 

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1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Bruised

  1. Wow, this is so real and raw, and yet so beautifully joined together.

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